Certification of Sanitation
by kasugai gummie
Summary: [SanaTezuAtoFujiRyo] 'In their relationship, a delightfully, convoluted, fiveway romance, schedules weren't the only conflicting things.'
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Konomi would either be appalled if he found this. Anipuri animators would sue me for stealing their crack. Joy.

**Warnings**: HOMOSEXUAL FIVESOME. SanaTezuAtoFujiRyo. If that hurts your brain or ties your morals into nasty little knots, then avoid reading further at all costs. This author is a twisted little person and cannot ensure stability of readers' minds. Sanity will not be refunded.

**Author's Notes**: Wanted to end the year with something twisted. Ha. Unfortunately my partner-in-OT5-crime, **exwaiz**, is in Singapore and therefore can't transplant her half of the OT5 crack from her LJ to here. Wasn't sure when would be an appropriate time to hatch this, but seeing that **starsniper** broke the ice already (hugs and hearts to you for taking the initiative and prodding me off my lazy bum), decided that New Year's Eve would do just fine.

Was released hurriedly on my writing journal a few weeks ago because I was trying to convert **meitachi** to OT5 greatness. But between now and then, I had time to revise, so there shouldn't be too many discrepancies. I hope.

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**Certification of Sanitation - 1**  
by kasugai gummie

* * *

_It takes two to tango. Three to crowd. Four to party. And five to orgy._

* * *

It wasn't often they saw each other long enough to eat together.

Fuji's photography classes were almost always held during the afternoon, or evenings; Tezuka was busy as an intern at the University's hospital and athletic trainer; Atobe's studies in law and politics demanded a good three fourths of his daylight hours and another half of his nocturnal minutes; Sanada's double duties as kendo captain and assistant tennis coach, in addition to his regular studies, didn't make things any better—having pretty much robbed him of his mornings, afternoons, and evenings.

That left Echizen, whose continued proactive obsession with tennis (something he once admitted—privately—was second only to what he held for each of his four significant others), coupled with his double major in English and international politics, didn't help with the conflicting schedules.

After the first few months of hectic agendas and irate lovers, the five youths soon came to realize that dates, such as those of major holidays and freak class cancellations, were literal gifts from god. The red sharpie hearts that decorated their apartment's main calendar, accompanied with the occasional "Make way for God's gift to Orgy-kind" subtext (courtesy of Fuji), said so.

However, getting to spend quality time together didn't come without its price either. In their relationship, (a delightfully, convoluted, five-way romance,) schedules weren't the only conflicting things.

"Where are we going tonight?" Sanada asked their youngest as they all waited outside the elevator door.

"... WcDonalds."

His announcement was met with a variety of surprise, calm acceptance, curiosity, and utter horror. Oddly enough though, nobody really wanted to voice their thoughts on the revelation. In fact, it took Atobe a full minute to break the disbelieving silence.

"This is only the third time our schedules allows us to go out together and you want us to spend our time and money in a _fast food_ restaurant?"

Ryoma shrugged dismissively, ignoring both the diva's exasperated, but elegant, expression and Fuji's amused smile.

Tezuka, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know money was an issue, Keigo."

Atobe bristled. "That wasn't what I was referring to, _Kunimitsu_."

A displeased frown tilted the other's lips at the blatant challenge. Crossing his arms over his chest, Tezuka leveled a measuring stare at the equally belligerent Hyoutei alumni.

"Can we please save the foreplay until we're behind locked doors? I don't think the world is quite ready for us yet," Sanada muttered, crossing his arms and arching an eyebrow as two distinctively forceful stares swiveled to pin their focus on him.

Soft chuckles emanated from beside him. "But where's the fun in that, Genichirou? Besides, how do _you_ know whether or not the world is ready yet?" Fuji smiled archly up at the taller Rikkai graduate. "I really don't think the little old lady next door would mind all that much... fan-service, you understand."

Another pause accompanied the ping of opening doors as four pairs of eyes turned to stare at the smiling boy.

"... let's not go there, please." Tezuka pinched the bridge of his nose wearily.

Ryoma watched the distorted reflections of his lovers thoughtfully as the polished doors slid close effortlessly.

Obviously there was a conflict in interests, in schedules, and most importantly...

"Do you have ANY idea of what goes on in a fast food restaurant?"

There was this big, glaring conflict in taste.

"Yes."

Atobe glared at his protégé. "And you still insist on WcDonalds? Despite knowing how questionable their standards are for sanitation and health? Good god, the grease they use, then REUSE. And how do you even know if what they sell as meat, is in fact meat?"

"... we don't. And that's what makes eating there exciting." The smirk that accompanied the drawl was nothing if not mocking. It was also being mirrored by the ex-tennis prodigy who had draped himself across the youngest boy's shoulders.

The law-major glanced skyward. "Ore-sama is Not Amused," he stated flatly.

Tezuka took off his glasses to inspect them resignedly while their two shortest indulged in riling up the dark-haired diva. Doing his best to simply ignore the muted sounds of amusement, Tezuka shared a mildly suffering look with the only other sane member in their little group... although at this point in life, calling any of them "sane" was of questionable judgment.

As the tinny bell chimed to signal their stop and the double metal doors slid open, Ryoma quickly disentangled himself from the former prodigy's grasp, brushing past a still-peeved Atobe, and headed out the parlor in order to methodically head off any other possible arguments against their destination. Having managed to smooth over his anticipatory smirk before their resident diva grew even more suspicious (and as a result, more opposed to the sole destination choice), the tawny-eyed youth readied himself for the challenge he set for himself.

After the previous two (disastrous) attempts at dating as five young men in a mutual relationship, it was really no wonder that suspicion had flown rampant. All the possible scenarios of how the night could end (in disaster) weren't providing any optimistic expectations.

Their first date had had the fortune of dealing with odd eating habits. It was during their trip to Kawamura Takashi's Sushi shop, arranged by Fuji, that what was already common knowledge to Ryoma and Tezuka was also made clear to both Atobe and Sanada.

Fuji liked spicy foods.

In fact, he liked wasabi doctored dishes so much that anything going his way was considered a strong contestant for the critics' "Most Inedible," or the "Most Similar to Nuclear Waste" award. During that first outing, their sadistic fifth had managed to get a few wasabi concoctions past Tezuka's and Ryoma's defenses, and from there, onto Atobe's and Sanada's taste buds before all hell broke loose. It was after that particular episode in their relationship that the other four boys decided to never, ever, allow Fuji near anything that had do to with food. Of which included the general vicinity of the kitchen.

For the good of the world, of course.

Their second time dining together (as a normal loving fivesome) was dictated by Atobe. Never quite getting over the trauma of eating wasabi rolls without having previously removing his taste buds with a cauterizing surgical appliance, Atobe insisted that they go to a newly opened French establishment, a ridiculously expensive place where he could be certain that wasabi was relatively alien. Their egotistic lover somehow coerced them all into dressing for the occasion too; formal evening wear—starched button-up shirt included.

Not even Ryoma escaped the fashion demands of one Atobe Keigo.

That particular dinner affair was formal, stilted, and hellishly scary when they discovered that Fuji, being the prodigy at Life he was, had anticipated Atobe's choice and brought his own tube of wasabi.

The damage done to the silverware was extensive, the glassware shocking, the linens a nightmare, and was an overall expensive event—the maître d's trauma expenses and therapy sessions not included.

So to be fair, it was really no wonder why Atobe looked as if Sanada had accidentally thrown his dark blue cap into the whites wash; no wonder why both Sanada and Tezuka looked kind of disturbed, as if they'd forgotten their respective bottles of aspirin.

And now, with the luck of the draw, it was Ryoma's turn to decide their digestive-fates.

* * *

**End Chapter 1**  
Completed: 11/27/04  
Revised: 08/05/05


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: See first installment.

**Warnings**: See first installment. Also including a few sporadic cases of swearing with this update... and as many unannounced third person point of view changes I can bounce. Be prepared.

**Author's Notes**: Apologies to all those of you patiently waiting for your dose of OT5 crack. Was out of the country for the majority of my summer vacation, and found shiny new things to be distracted by. Not to mention I'd been faced with the most obnoxious writer's block for a few months (giving each member of the OT5 decent/equal amount focus is HARD). But am obviously back and still writing for my pet-fivesome. ;D I even went back and revised bits and pieces of the first part to make it flow better. Ah, and I suppose people would appreciate knowing that this will be a three part story with the third part already well under way... which is a good thing for myself since I'm otherwise being horribly distracted by a horde of Hanakimi muses and a NejiSasu muse to boot. X3

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**Certification of Sanitation - 2**  
by kasugai gummie

* * *

_It takes two to tango. Three to crowd. Four to party. And five to orgy._

* * *

"Would you like fries with that?"

Atobe looked ready to sue the livelihood out of the helpless cashier. "_No_, Ore-sama would _not_ like an order of your appalling mass-produced potato products. In fact, Ore-sama believes that such garbage, most probably artificial and from a box, then reprocessed in animal fat is—"

He would've said more, bled a little healthier sense into the plebian shying away from his commanding presence. Unfortunately somebody decided that the insignificant peon needed some saving from the Divine Wrath of Atobe, and placed a restraining hand over his mouth.

Atobe stiffened in outrage before registering the familiar fingertip calluses of their resident photographer.

But Fuji had been a little slow in silencing Atobe. Whether intentional or not, the palatable delay between Atobe's next word and Fuji's hand coming up to cut it off was enough for Ryoma to mentally sentence their most sadistic boyfriend to a week of changing Karupin's litter box. He was _hungry_, damn it, and Fuji's amusement stemming from the cashier's unholy fear of Atobe was detracting from his own entertainment plans—of which included force feeding, the Monkey King, and a Big Wac.

Ryoma continued to stare, alternating between Fuji and Atobe. He suppose he should be somewhat grateful that the trip to the fast-food joint was uninterrupted by any more complaints. In fact, the group of five had even managed to enter through the finger-print smudged doors, claimed a tacky-plastic booth, and lined up behind a teenage babysitter and her troup of squalling charges to order without so much an (audible) whimper.

But Ryoma, being Ryoma, wasn't grateful.

Having experienced Sanada's unflattering reaction to their neighbor's grandchildren, Atobe's "I am God's gift to man-kind" Saturday morning personality ritual, Fuji's random acts of smiling terror, and Tezuka's Spartan-like methods of ridding annoyances for the past few years, he'd came away with the knowledge that Good Things did not come without a token of Bad Things.

Like "just then" and "right now."

Barely one minute after reviewing the visually disorienting menus had passed before their night out together faced imminent doom courtesy of the one-man resistance group known as Atobe Keigo.

Tezuka must've noticed the dark cloud of displeasure that broiled above Ryoma's head and took it upon himself to prevent any imminent bodily damage to the diva and prodigy. Ryoma usually couldn't do _too_ much to Atobe—given the difference in size of course. But for Fuji who was only so much taller than their youngest, and of the same body build as the slight but physically more active Echizen... well, when Fuji was put out of commission (read: couldn't participate in unmentionable activities), _nobody_ was safe from whatever retribution he wanted to exact.

"Sy—Fuji," Tezuka warned, pulling a stiff and displeased, but silent, Atobe away from the counter and towards Sanada whose expression didn't change aside from the quick roll of his eyes skyward. "Sanada, please escort _Atobe-sama_ back to our table," Tezuka continued, relying on the memory of the last time he accidentally provoked more than two of his lovers at a time to crush the urge to dish out punishment laps with a vengeance and blind eye.

On hindsight, it really wasn't funny, no matter how much Fuji Syuusuke would beg to differ.

The one and only time Tezuka uttered something along the lines of "Ryoma! Keigo! Genichirou! Twenty laps around the parking lot!" had degenerated into one of the ugliest spats Fuji ever had the pleasure of recording for his film documentary project. The former tennis captain also learned from that day on that certain overbearing habits were to be suppressed if a co-existence and working relationship with two other former tennis club captains, co-captain, and prodigy were to continue as a non-liability.

But even the week of being shoved out of bed and onto the floor at five-o'clock a.m. sharp didn't stop him from laying thick the "captain-presence" when it came to damage control and Fuji.

Said fair-haired man tilted his head to one side when he finally acknowledged the departure of one very outraged Atobe and the oppressive vibes coming from both former captain and former kouhai on either side.

And Fuji, being the clever prodigy he was, got the message.

"Aah..." The apologetic smile Fuji flashed was anything but sincere and yet it seemed to return some semblance of non-quailing-at-the-sight-of-a-customer into the cashier. "We'll have four sides of fries. Three medium, one small."

The smile grew wider.

"Sorry for all the inconvenience."

* * *

Word of the "psycho, code one dinner party" flew rampant within the kitchens of WcDonalds like dirty, tabloid news. But upon receiving their order of some odd Big Wacs, Wac Salads, fries, and assorted beverages, the group more-or-less behaved.

That is, they maintained the public peace until Atobe found a strand of light brown hair nestled among the pile of extra lettuce leaves that came with his Big Wac. He'd been eyeing the sandwich with something akin to disgust prior to his little discovery. His expression afterwards came closer to "unrestrained and unmitigated horror."

Ryoma continued to eat his burger as if the ominous pressure increasing at an alarming rate to his right was anything but dangerous.

Fuji leaned over, teasing, and stole a sip of the younger boy's milkshake, also seemingly oblivious to the danger that was an offended Atobe.

Ryoma sniffed, irritated, before stealing a sip out of Sanada's cup—only to be reminded that the former Rikkaidai vice-captain had ordered tea.

Sanada rolled his eyes… and tried his hardest not to make eye contact with a very-much outraged Atobe Keigo.

"Excuse me." The words weren't so much a request as they were an order.

Sanada glanced over at Atobe's stiff and rigid profile. He'd had to have a word with Fuji and Ryoma later, but for now, he had damage control duties with Tezuka to attend to.

"Aa? Where are you going Keigo?" Fuji asked with mock concern on full throttle. "You haven't even touched your Big Wac yet." He took a bite out of his own, perpetual smile shifting into what the other four had christened his post-coital smirk.

Atobe looked positively sick.

"We're all adults here. Can we please act our age?" Tezuka pinched the bridge of his nose, trying his hardest to stay the status quo while ignoring Sanada's muffled snort of derision and the twin Cheshire grins shared by Fuji and Ryoma. "Keigo, sit down. Forget the burger and eat your salad so we can go home and pretend this never happened."

Atobe's dark eyes narrowed into slits. "Not until I see their certificate that states they passed the fucking sanitation inspection."

"Language Monkey King," Ryoma drawled from around a heavily salted fry. He nodded towards a middle-aged mother who had looked up startled and scandalized.

However, Atobe looked rather scandalized himself. Jerking out of Sanada's restraining grasp (with a snapped threat of "I'll make you sleep in the kitchen AND cut down on our tango sessions,") he pushed himself out of the booth and started _stalking_, for lack of a better term, towards the back of the establishment.

They all sat in silence, a background din of excited chatter and eating lulling the senses as they waited...

"H-Hey! Now, wait a minute…"

"W-WHO ARE YOU? STOP! YOU CAN'T COME BACK HERE! _WAIT_! YOU CAN'T GO BACK THERE EITHER!"

"OH MY _GOD_ WHERE DID HE COME FROM?"

"HEY! I SAID _**WAIT**_ YOU FUCKING PANSY!"

The following hush that shuddered through the entire restaurant was a little foreboding, if not completely ominous.

Ryoma looked up from where he was studiously swiping Fuji's fries when the incoherent screaming began, a look of vague surprise stealing over his otherwise bored features. Tawny eyes slid over the rest of his boyfriends' varying expressions, coolly evaluating the situation (or what remained of it after its regression).

Tezuka and Sanada were already half-out of their seats when his not-so-quietly spoken words stopped them in mid-step.

"You just HAD to put your hair into the Monkey King's sandwich, didn't you Syuusuke?"

* * *

**End Chapter 2**  
Completed: 08/03/05  
Revised: 08/05/05


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: See first installment. Also, any similarities to real life people was not intended.

**Warnings**: See previous installments. General mockery made of fast-food restaurants. The depictions of the state of "WcDonalds" is completely for entertainment purposes only, so if anybody reading this does in fact work in a restaurant, I recommend not taking offense.

**Notes**: Finally completed the first One True Fivesome multiparter for TeniPuri _and_ on the birthday of one Echizen Ryoma no less! (I congratulate myself, shut up). It's been quite awhile since I've written for TeniPuri however, much less this particular fic, so the writing here might not jive with the previous two chapters. I've had quite the kick with writing Atobe though and, much to my surprise, Sanada as well.

Thank you to all of those who helped spread this... orgy and supported this fic piece from the beginning!

**Dedications**: My two darling fiancées **exwaiz** and **ladyandrogene**; the big day is almost upon us :O

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**Certification of Sanitation - 3**  
by kasugai gummie

* * *

_It takes two to tango. Three to crowd. Four to party. And five to orgy._

* * *

Atobe was furious. Enraged. Infuriated. Absolutely and justifiably furious.

Sidestepping another grease-stained pissant who dared to try and apprehend him, Atobe finally found himself within the inner sanctuary of WcDonalds—a few steps ahead and a mob of fast food employees an entire grill counter behind. The smell of refried grease still persisted, however, and the further damage that was being done to his hair as a result was simply unacceptable. Atobe gritted his teeth before letting out his breath in an elegant sigh of high-class annoyance and turning to address the punitive menace threatening his back.

"Ore-sama _would_ prefer to see the owner of this pathetic establishment without any more attempts made at dirtying my being with your lowly selves," he began, condescension dripping from every pore. "Ore-sama _will_ speak to your manager and you will all go back to your disgraceful posts."

And then, for a whimsical second, Atobe thought they all looked like a school of leprosy-infected albino goldfish.

"Trying to further restrain the great me from exacting my legal due as a _severely_ unsatisfied customer will result in extraneous consequences," Atobe continued coolly, cutting off the blustering cook who had maybe managed to annunciate a single syllable before being silenced. Raising his head even higher and practically emitting waves of "Important Person; Grovel Damn it," Atobe sneered down at the pack of glowering workers. "Therefore I strongly suggest that you all back away before I start remembering your faces and make sure none of you flip another miserable burger again for the rest of your lives. Have I made my great self clear?"

Without bothering to see if his advice was heeded (not that he ever needed to in the first place), Atobe turned back to face the drab office door. Dark eyes narrowed in on the opaque glass while plans of tanking this particular franchise organized themselves obediently within his steel trap of a mind. He'd probably have to make it up to the brat again at some later date for taking such drastic (but wholly necessary) actions against his preferred chain but for now…

Pushing the door open with all the authority at his disposal (an amount that all four of his lovers would later accuse him of overkill for), Atobe strode into the manager's office.

* * *

"You knew, Ryoma?"

Ryoma shrugged noncommittally even as two other pairs of disbelieving eyes stared at his face. Truth be told, he found himself more amused by the fact that Tezuka was so preoccupied with the emergency at hand that he failed to correct Fuji's use of his first name in public. "I guess."

Sanada muttered a few choice profanities—under his breath, if only to avoid drawing more scandalized glares towards their table in this supposedly family-friendly establishment. "How could you forget to mention that?" he finally growled. "Especially knowing Keigo's standard reactions…"

Ryoma wordlessly slanted another look to Tezuka who still seemed as if he were trying to find a way to patch what remained of their questionable relationship with the food industry sector of society. Looked like the Proper Name Usage in Public was no longer one of his bespectacled lover's top ten priorities. Leaning on the tabletop, Ryoma continued to pick at the rapidly cooling fries. "It wasn't like I could do anything, you know," he reasoned.

And really, there wasn't. He was just as annoyed at Fuji for completely nuking his plans of feeding Atobe a Big Wac as he was entertained with how things had progressed. "Had I pointed out Fuji's hair to you, Keigo still wouldn't have touched the sandwhich."

Fuji laughed softly as Sanada buried his face in his hand. Though not as dramatic as Atobe, the Rikkaidai graduate _did_ share certain sentiments with their arrogant lover.

"When we get home I'm going to—"

Ryoma merely smiled, sly, while Sanada suddenly found himself with Fuji's right hand covering his mouth and left hand in his lap. (That there were no fainting mothers and questioning children bespoke of how well placed and convenient the table really was.)

Sanada however, didn't find his current predicament as entertaining and frowned expressively at the censoring hand.

"Now, now Genichirou," their resident genius chided sweetly when he felt the pair of thinly pressed lips move against his palm. "Please remember we're in a public setting. No spilling confidential information, yes?"

Blue eyes winked almost conspiratorially from their youngest's derisive snort to the "You Hypocrite" accusation imbedded in Sanada's expression. "Or at least, not until Kunimitsu is less insecure," Fuji amended. "So we must all be on our best behavior. Besides, do recall the positions we were assigned to this month. I doubt you'll be able to do anything lasting to Ryoma. Or me for that matter."

Sanada twitched. Whether the shudder came as a result of Fuji's insinuations or because of whatever was going on beneath the table, Ryoma couldn't be sure. He would have checked out of sheer curiosity's sake too, but as luck would have it, Tezuka chose that particular moment to finalize his internal debate on the appropriate course of action.

"Ryoma," Tezuka said, catching the younger man's attention by straightening out of the booth completely.

Ryoma blinked in mild surprise at hearing his name, honorifics unattached, come out of Tezuka's mouth in a public restaurant. Maybe this farce of a dinner might actually have some lasting benefits: even his former captain with one of the largest non-phallic objects up his ass was yielding to the necessity to defuse Atobe and defuse him _now_. The screaming had died down for a good minute now, and as much as he liked the taste of WcDonalds, he didn't like it _so_ much as to have Atobe not want to join in on explicit activities in retaliation for this experience. In the aftermath of the night Fuji took them out, for example, _both_ Atobe and Sanada went on strike. For ten days.

Ryoma remembered the bed seeming abnormally bigger during those unpleasant days.

Casting a last, almost imperceptible look of longing at his unfinished order, Ryoma followed Tezuka with bland indifference masking his thoughts.

Before they turned to go however, he nodded questioningly at the remaining two of their group who also waited for Tezuka to finish addressing them.

"Ryoma and I are going to go try and find Keigo," Tezuka informed them curtly, impatiently. "Genichirou, Syuusuke. You two guard the food. Make sure nobody steals it."

Though the background accompaniment of eating and children had been returning as a crescendo, the party of five (which somehow found itself reduced to two) was suddenly plunged into silence.

* * *

Sanada and Fuji watched quietly as Tezuka and Ryoma hurry along the path of legal destruction Atobe had laid out for them before contemplating the food and exchanging significant looks with each other.

"… well, that went better than I expected," Fuji said with a winning smile and slowly removed his right hand. Sanada merely arched an eyebrow in disbelief (though he made no mention of the left hand that obviously stayed). When Fuji directed a courteous nod to the affronted mother who hurriedly ushered her children past her, however, Sanada groaned and buried introduced his forehead to the crinkle of trademarked packaging.

Fuji patted Sanada's thigh consolingly. "We better watch the food carefully Genichirou," he reminded blithely, even as he ate a pickle slice that once belonged on Tezuka's unfinished sandwich. "You never know who might actually be desperate enough."

So they watched, waited, and endured nasty looks directed towards them from the remaining customers.

One minute turned to two.

Two minutes turned to five.

The scuffling noises coming from the back had started again, then quieted (Sanada continued to wonder when someone with common sense would call the police). But still nobody, familiar or strange, came out.

At the end of the eight minute mark, Sanada found himself wishing for his old cap from his junior high days. Or a paper bag—he wondered if there were any cashiers left who would be willing to fulfill his request for a to-go bag before running away in abject horror because of his relation to their reigning drama king. Atobe had that effect on people sometimes. Actually, upon deeper contemplation, all of them did.

Sanada looked over to Fuji who had calmly resumed eating fries, and ended up frowning at the little girl who had toddled over and was mock zapping them with her meal toy. Gently plucking the cheap piece of badly assembled LEGO pieces out of her hands, he opened his mouth to lecture her—never mind that he was a big, bad stranger she wasn't supposed to talk to. Unfortunately, the moment he set the sorry piece of shit down on the table, it broke. So when the little girl with her Hello Kitty pigtails started crying, as opposed to making annoying laser sounds, Sanada frowned even harder.

The truth was that Sanada had been one of those children who, though took very good care of their toys, had absolutely no respect or affection for those unfortunate objects.

The frown graduated into a grimace when the LEGOs seemed to mock at him from between the limp lettuce and cold fries.

"Smile for the camera, Genichirou," Fuji called out as he smiled intently at his cell phone screen.

Sanada looked up from where he was failing to console the screaming child and wished he hadn't.

* * *

Upon his entry into the drabby sewer with fluorescent lighting, what was going on outside was the last thing on Atobe's mind. Sprawled on the cluttered desk was a middle-aged, grey-haired male with a toupee slipping off one centimeter per minute. Atobe curled his lip in disgust at the level of depravity he found.

He stood by the doorway for another moment, mentally deducted another twenty points (multiplied by fifteen thousand yen) from the useless lump for sleeping during work hours (which made the total come to a two hundred-three thousand yen settlement), and then slammed the door shut.

Seating himself into the ratty armchair facing the desk, Atobe watched imperiously as the manager spluttered awake.

"What? Who?" Squinting pig-like eyes peered at him blearily. "Who are you and how did you get in here?"

"Atobe Keigo," he stated, noticing the dilation of pupils with the barest flicker of satisfaction. Right on time: Years of sitting atop an entire community of which was composed of some merit but more stupidity had suggested that this piddle of a man was no more than an uneducated amoeba and would probably going into the standard sensory overload induced by his commanding presence under less than three minutes. Next would be excretion of bodily fluids…

The manager began sweating almost uncontrollably, much to Atobe's displeasure. "Oh, um…" The toupee fell off with a muffled _thump_ on a mass of illegible paperwork. "What can I do for you Atobe-sama?"

Barely restraining the urge to roll his eyes, Atobe snorted softly. He didn't even need to exercise his insight on this man: obviously one of those suck-up types. Not wanting to waste anymore of his precious time (he had wanted to do some "product testing" with his lovers instead of coming out anyway), Atobe decided to speak in as simple of language as was possible.

"Your food inspection papers. I'd like to see them."

Those puny eyes struggled to blink. "What pap—"

"Your certificate that states this building passed the federal sanitation inspection. I'd. Like. To. See. It," Atobe annunciated carefully, irritation edging his voice. Gods above, what was wrong with this peon that he didn't seem to understand? "I am here as an unsatisfied customer with questions regarding the state of your establishment."

"O-oh. Yes, yes, of course." The pudgy little man staggered to his feet, whereas Atobe rose gracefully with a watchful eye trained on the now drenched figure as it disappeared into the adjoined filing closet.

Minutes later, the manager returned, a slim, battered folder clutched between trembling fingers. "Here you are," he croaked, standing anxiously behind the much taller youth.

Taking the files gingerly out of the randomly twitching death grip, it didn't take long for Atobe to find the information he needed. Dark lashes lowered gradually but surely, until the steel blue eyes were no more than smoldering slits.

"These," came the dangerously low declaration, "are _expired_."

* * *

When Ryoma and Tezuka finally cleared the apprehensive (and highly defensive) payroll of WcDonald employees, they were greeted by something… not entirely unexpected.

It had been a little tricky to step around the huddled person (who they presumed to be the manager) without actually stepping _on_ him, and to Atobe who was looming behind the desk, referencing a carpet of papers on said desk, cell phone out, and barking commands to whichever unfortunate underling on call.

"—also want the documents that state the requirements for passing the fucking—"

Ryoma moved forward first, wordlessly assigning the task of returning some semblance of personhood into the manager to his more responsible lover.

"Don't sue him Monkey King," he warned, falling back on the questionable nickname he reserved for when Atobe was being particularly over-excessive. Sidling up to Atobe with an unobtrusive hand in the small of the older man's back, Ryoma effectively cut the other's call short by pulling the device out of his hands and snapping it close. "We'll make it up to you, Keigo," the sharp-eyed youth offered in a low murmur while Tezuka approached the quivering manager as one would approach a cornered animal. "Syuusuke and I especially."

"Syuusu—" Atobe looked from where Tezuka was trying to counsel the lost cause and down at the unrepentant tennis genius sharply. "I'll be expecting a thorough explanation from both of you later then," he said finally after a good minute of suspicious thought.

"Fair enough," Ryoma said in a satisfied manner. And he had much to be satisfied over too: this night had been productively eventful after all. Walking over to Tezuka who had finally given up and was eyeing the gibbering man warily, he motioned for Atobe to follow before tapping Tezuka on the shoulder. "We're leaving now."

Their journey through the kitchens was understandably tense, a result from both the killing aura emanating from the spatula wielding cooks and the ominous silence from an equally murderous Atobe.

Once they went out the double swinging doors however, Tezuka sighed. "Let's just forget this ever happened."

Ryoma smirked impudently. "Like the other times?"

Tezuka frowned wearily at their youngest who ignored the look and focused his attention on the far scene of Sanada valiantly holding off an enraged couple and a screaming child while Fuji laughed softly behind his cell phone.

When Atobe decided to stalk on ahead with a snapped, "Ore-sama has had enough of this idiocy; go fetch Syuusuke and Genichirou before I shut this miserable place down and into the next century," Tezuka sighed again.

* * *

The next time anybody noticed a coincide of schedules was not until a good three months later: enough time to drown out any feel-bad reactions. It was on an early weekend morning that Tezuka approached all four of his lovers with his observation and suggestion.

Tezuka cleared his throat. "I was thinking of something along the lines of a picnic."

"Picnic?" Ryoma echoed in disbelief when the others weren't as forthcoming with their reactions.

"Yes."

"Outside?"

"Yes."

"During the day?"

Tezuka "ah-ed" his final affirmative.

Ryoma broke eye contact immediately thereafter, as if ashamed to have helped clarify the proposition, hand spasming once around his pen before he managed to get the nervous twitch under control. Atobe and Sanada, on the other hand, weren't as subtle with their reactions and exchanged a very blatant Look that translated to something along the lines of "_Oh,_ _Fuck_."

Tezuka ignored them however, preferring to wait, expressionless. His patience wasn't wasted either, because seconds later a soft "hmm" drifted up from behind the couch.

"... does this mean the world is ready for us now?" Fuji mused.

* * *

**Fin**  
Completed: 12/24/05


End file.
